


where thistle grows

by StupidPoetry



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: A prayer if you will, Gen, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-05
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-11-12 10:34:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 237
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18009305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StupidPoetry/pseuds/StupidPoetry
Summary: Caduceus asks The Wildmother to do something very important. Something that only mothers can do.





	where thistle grows

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Angel Ascending (angel_in_ink)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/angel_in_ink/gifts).



> A gift to the ever-so-lovely Angel who's a great friend and a good egg, so you should love them too.

Oh Wildmother,  
Take care of this girl who was seen as weed  
By her gardeners, and was tortured for being,  
So she was forced to become as relentless  
As thistle that grows by the roads.  
Take care of this child   
for she’s learning that hand does not equate fist,  
Each knuckle painfully gripping the absence of fear.  
She’s extended her hand to the burning and drowned  
To help them tame the fire and stop the salt from eating away what’s tender.  
She has lost whom she’s chosen to be her blood  
And came out with less thorns around her.  
Watch her, Wildmother,  
For she’s learnt to say “I love you”  
And give it freely, like a gift,  
Like an invitation   
To see her bloom in bright purples and blues.  
Love her for her freedom  
For she’ll never be gentle the way some are,  
But oh is she relentless, oh is she devout,  
Oh is she a force of nature!  
Only your child could be so wild,  
A thistle growing and grabbing for more,  
Full of unstoppable life,  
Throwing herself into elementals  
And fighting each time like it is her last,   
Never losing her grip on us.  
Oh Wildmother, she’s a motherless child,  
Each knuckle bruised and battered, and thorned,  
For she’s fighting against something greater than her.  
Oh watch over her  
Like a mother would  
For the nights are too cold for lost children  
To walk alone.


End file.
